


Nothing But Color (The Cold As Fuck Remix)

by akamine_chan



Category: due South
Genre: Community: remixthedrabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-13
Updated: 2009-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-05 07:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray never used to love the color white.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing But Color (The Cold As Fuck Remix)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LiveJournal Community remixthedrabble - Round 7
> 
> Notes: Beta'd by Waltzforanight. Remix of Simplystars' [A Lack Of Color](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_snippets/42577.html).

Ray never used to love the color white.

White was something he could live without, thank you kindly. White was endless piles of paperwork, ticking away his useless life. White was the fucking White Sox, the worst baseball team in the history of baseball teams.

White was the color of so many things he hated. The crumpled sheets on his solitary bed, eggshell white, left behind after the divorce. Stella's wedding dress, paid for by her parents, all beads and sparkles and ivory lace. The white-gold promise of her wedding ring. _Death do us part_.

White was the color of Fraser's stupid old-fashioned Henley.

White and Ray were quits, finito. White was everything he'd had and lost; white was everything he wanted and couldn't have.

But that was all before; because now Ray loved white. White is the pristine snow of the Northwest Areas, white is ice floes in the Beauford Sea and polar bears stalking seals, and white is learning to build an igloo, stacking blocks counter-clockwise and basking in Fraser's praise as he learns to cut the blocks out of the hard-packed snow.

And most important of all, white is the incandescence heat of their bodies in the night, protected from the wind that howls across the desolate landscape, safe in the tent. White is Fraser's mouth, kissing him, claiming him, marking him and making Ray moan. White is the touch of Fraser's hands, starved for touch, pushing clothes off, unbearably arousing. White is the sounds he can't stifle as Fraser moves, in and in and _out_, until Ray is gasping and crying, Fraser's body rocking, and rocking...

Alabaster, pearl, ivory.

"It's fucking cold, Fraser." Which was Ray's way of saying so much more.

A smile, and a puff of condensation. "Understood, Ray."

-fin-


End file.
